Vendetta
by Sunshine'n'Sweetheart
Summary: His genetic superiority eradicated. His destiny crushed. His dreams shattered. All that remains is his hate. His vengeance will be swift and momentous. The traitors will pay. First to suffer – the two animals who tore it all down. Logan's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**The Characters depicted in this story are the Intellectual Property of Marvel. We just toyed with them a little to right the wrongs that Ratner inflicted on canon. No breach of copyright is intended and no money has found its way into our eager, sweaty little hands. **

**A/N This is post X3 but can be considered AU. Black Phoenix did not rise from the soggy ashes therefore Charles Xavier and Scott Summers are still very much alive and kicking ass.**

**CHAPTER 1**

Three hundred ass-numbing miles since dawn and a bug in the teeth for every one of 'em. Ain't no kinda meal for a man so I'm gonna shove a big juicy mammalian steak down my neck before I turn gecko. There's a pit-stop up ahead with a shitload of trucks in the lot. Lotta trucks usually means decent chow. One minor fly in the ointment though. Truckers can be a surly bunch of assholes. Sorta clannish. Brotherhood of the Highways and all that crap. Tend to get a tad antsy if pretty waitresses make eyes at one-time through trade. Like the female staff are their personal property or something.

Let 'em suck it up.

Ain't no clue where I'm going. Heading north. Don't give a fuck where. Just north. Away from people. Away from Westchester. Just...away! Broke Rogue's heart seeing me up and leave without warning. Could smell and taste the salt tears as I scrammed with hardly a backwards glance or farewell. Heard the catch in her breath as she called after me, asking me when I'd return. Didn't have an answer for her. Fuck knows when I'll be back.

When I'm ready.

Whenever.

Ever?

Taking the cure changed her. Changed the way people treated her. Suddenly she was a human girl attending Mutant High. Her buddies sympathised; became overprotective which she hated. Others didn't sympathise. A few dumb pukes looked down on her; considered her weak for going belly up first chance she got. Like she'd never helped save their miserable asses. Like they didn't fucking care how shitty her life was. It sucked, that whole can't touch, daren't touch deal. I know it. Rogue knows it. Can't help thinking she shoulda given Chuck a chance to help her though. Like he helped One-eye control his ocular ka-pow. Too damn late now. Decision's made, she powered down and now she gets to live with it.

Hope it was worth it.

Cooking smells make my mouth water but I'm gonna fill up on gas first. With a face and a history like mine, plus a diner full of truckers, ya just never know when a quick exit strategy is required. Look kinda dumb if I ran outta gas while a convoy of eighteen wheelers scorched my tail. The gas station attendant and locals seem friendly and there's no hassle as I fill the Harley's tank so I'm gonna take that as a good sign. There's an area outside the diner just for bikes which is also promising. I leave my baby where I can see her and head inside.

The place is bright, clean and busy. The ambient din of people eating and talking is underscored by the racket of the cooks somewhere out back doing their thing. Topics of conversation range from planning some kid's birthday party up to lurid details of a beefy guy's recent one night stand. One or two singletons have their noses in newspapers and the clientele is overwhelmingly male. All the tables and booths are occupied so I take a seat at the counter. The waitress fiddling with the coffee machine don't wait for me to call her over.

"What's your pleasure, fella?"

She's a looker. Young, early twenties, bright red lipstick, long brown hair, clear complexion, dove-grey eyes and a body worth exploring. Nice rack filling out her close fitting uniform. There's a name tag pinned over her left breast that says, Melody. Name suits her. Shame I ain't sticking around long enough to show her what my pleasure is.

"Coffee. Strong. Black. Keep it coming."

"Anything to eat with that?"

This kid sure knows how to ask questions. "Steak. Bloody. Gimme the works. Pile it high will ya, darlin'?"

She scribbles my order on a pad, tears off the page and hands it through a hatch to someone in the kitchen.

"That'll be eight ninety-nine."

I open my wallet, extract a ten and a five and hand 'em over. "There ya go sweet cheeks. Keep the change."

The tip's a generous one. She smiles, showing her pearlies. "Thanks mister."

Someone yells for more coffee so she scoots off after handing me a steaming mug of the same.

The steak's tender and the coffee's as hot as the waitress. Both slide down the tube easily. As I shovel the food into my mouth people leave, people arrive and the fragrant Melody flits from table to table like a bee on speed, flashing her high wattage charms as she goes. Her efforts don't go unappreciated. A guy exits the bathroom and heads for the jukebox and moments later a song starts up. It's Country, which I loathe, but I understand the sentiment as the strains of _Take This Job And Shove It_ begin to filter through the diner.

Out in the parking lot a truck's pulling onto the highway. Beneath the meaty throb of its engine I can hear the purr of a motorcycle throttling down. It's a big, sleek Kawasaki, all silver and black. Looks like one of the new Concours 14s I've read a lot of hype about. Ain't the bike that catches my attention though, it's the lithe contours of the rider. Totally female and dammit if she ain't hotter'n Hades. Strong too coz that ain't no pansy-class crotch rocket between her thighs.

Rolling to a stop just a few feet from my Harley she switches the engine off, detaches her chassis from the one she's straddling and releases the kickstand with a deft flick of her boot. The execution of the dismount is both elegant and stimulating. God, those legs go all the way up to heaven and my groin tightens as I imagine them wrapped around me. After pulling her gloves off she tosses them on the seat and removes her helmet. Long, tousled, satin-black hair cascades across her shoulders and down her back. Her almond shaped eyes and flawless features look stunningly exotic. Facial bone structure says Japanese, lithe figure screams take me now.

I ain't the only guy who's noticed the show. Guys are nudging each other, muttering their admiration, putting the new arrival at the head of their "to do" lists. Can't fault their taste. For a piece of classy ass like that I wouldn't merely break my journey, I'd smash it to splinters. Girl like her's worth making time for.

With.

As she steps into the diner a chorus of wolf whistles start up and patrons beckon, inviting her to sit with them. Propositions and blatant horniness follow her like a Mexican wave. Cool as a cucumber she ignores 'em and heads for the counter where she lays her helmet and gloves. Melody hangs back, clearly annoyed that the focus has slipped from her. She scowls at the fickle crowd that so recently made her the centre of attention and announces a break. Swinging her hips seductively she hightails it into the kitchen. Another waitress, a worldly wise, pleasant looking middle-ager takes her place, a knowing smile playing across her lips as she watches the retreat of Melody.

"What can I get ya, miss?"

"A coffee please. Black. No sugar."

"Want anything from the menu?"

"No thanks. Where's the restroom?"

"Left of the jukebox. Can't miss it."

"Thanks. Will my stuff be okay here?"

"Sure."

I watch her sashay through the diner finding her rear view is every bit as stimulating as the front one. Those pants sure are skin tight. Never knew there was such a thing as spray on leather.

Minutes pass and the conversation buzz settles down. It's short lived. Finished with the restroom she ventures into the eating area and runs a gauntlet of wolf-whistles on her way back to the counter. Without any acknowledgement whatsoever she slides onto a stool two up from mine. Close enough. Her natural scent and the stink of road dust has been infiltrated by the cheap liquid soap these places stock restroom dispensers with. She's combed her hair and it swings around her face and shoulder like liquid silk. My eyes just can't get enough of her.

"Here you go, hon. There's more if you want it." The waitress hands over a cup of steaming coffee.

"Thank you." I watch as her lips grip the cup delicately while she sips and swallows. "This is great."

Her compliment brings a smile to the waitresses lips. "You're welcome." Turning to me she brandishes the coffee jug. "Top up?"

"Yeah. Thanks." After the refill the waitress saunters off to tend tables leaving me to enjoy the scenery.

High class biker babe catches my eye. Catches me checking her out.

"What?"

Her voice is soft, low. Sexy. The kinda voice I like to hear urging me on.

"Nice looking ride."

Her eyes narrow. She's got beautiful eyes. Dark brown; almost black. Right now there's an icy glint in 'em. Her wine dark lips are tense, thinned by anger. She's misunderstood my words. Or maybe she hasn't. I incline my head to the large window through which our bikes are visible.

"The 'Saki. That's some machine ya got there. How's she handle?"

"Who wants to know?"

Things are looking up. Girl wants my handle. "Name's Logan."

She looks me up, down and back up again, taking her time, her expression guarded. Look on her face says my first impression didn't cut too deep. The glint's still there but the temperature has dipped. She gonna need some work. Why is it things worth having never come easy?

She takes another sip of coffee. Jeez, I'd give anything to be that cup right now. After putting her cup down she looks at me and I get a mixed reading from her. Intense, interested maybe. But there's disapproval too.

"You know bikes?" she asks.

Safe subject. Neutral. Not that I care. She could be tearing me a new one and I'd still wanna listen to that sultry voice of hers.

"Yeah, that's my Harley parked out front."

Now I'm picking up amusement but her poker face don't change.

"The Pork Boy? You don't look like a dust addict."

Pork Boy? Dust addict? She just insult my ride and me right along with it? Gotta knock that notion clean outta her head.

"I don't eat dust, darlin'. I dish it."

The glint hardens. Guess male posturing don't cut it with her. For a heartbeat those expressive eyes study me and a smile ghosts across her lips.

"If you say so."

"Are you challenging me?"

C'mon, darlin'. You show me yours and I'll show ya mine.

"Challenging you? To a race? No way. Why would I want to humiliate a perfect stranger?"

Humiliate _me_? She actually believes she's that good? This I wanna see. "So, that's a no?"

"That's a no."

You ain't getting off the hook so easily, Babe. Time to up the ante. "Then ya shouldn't say things ya can't back up, sweetheart."

"I'm not a sweetheart and I've got nothing to prove, least of all illegal street racing with some Clint Eastwood wanna be. Now make my day and go away."

Illegal, huh? So's that outfit yer wearing, doll, or at least it oughta be, but I ain't complaining.

"Whatever ya say, darlin'. Mighta been fun to find out."

I smile just to show I got no hard feelings.

Across the diner someone vacates a booth. Biker babe flashes me a withering glare, gathers her things and hikes herself and her coffee to the booth without so much as a backward glance.

Okay, total flame-out with this chick.

Ah well. Ya win some ya lose some. Time to get myself in the wind. The Harley fires up sweet as a virgin on her wedding night and I head out.

Three miles up the highway I'm burned off by the 'Saki chick. No major feat since I ain't in any hurry. For a second I think she's blowing me a kiss but she slaps her ass instead and opens up her throttle, zooming away with little regard to the speed limit. Message is clear enough. So's the challenge. So much for no illegal street racing. When I catch her, and I will catch her, me kissing that million dollar booty of hers will serve as a preliminary to something far sweeter.

To the victor the spoils.

Couldn't give a shit about speed limits so I open up the Harley and give chase. And man does she does give me a heckuva chase. The babe knows how to ride. We weave in and out of traffic and ride neck and neck on clear stretches. The bikes are pretty evenly matched. So're our skills. The more I learn about this honey the more I wanna know. Swear to God I can hear the minx laughing. She's enjoying this as much as I am.

I lose sight of her as she takes the inside of an eighteen wheeler while I remain in the fast lane. The road bends to the right and suddenly she has an edge and shoots out, gaining distance on me. There's an exit coming up fast and before I know it she's off the main highway. And again, there's the butt slap. An invitation? You betcha! Never one to turn a lady down I cut across the lanes and follow, the truck driver honking his horn in protest.

The road's a lot narrower and it's clear we're heading for higher ground. Trees begin to crowd the roadside and the houses dwindle in number as we race along, taking bends at breakneck speed. She don't let up on her throttle which tells me she's familiar with the road; on home turf. Maybe that's where she's going. Home.

Don't matter none that she's got the advantage on me. I stay right on her six, matching her gear changes and keeping pace with her on the twists and turns. She might think she's winning, hanging up in front but I got the best seat in the house.

The road becomes a steep contour as is snakes around a hill. There's run-off from last night's rain which makes the road slick in places but she don't give in to caution so I ain't gonna neither. The road levels out as we crest the hill and we flash past a road sign warning of a sharp bend ahead. Biker Babe pays it no mind coz rather than throttle down she accelerates into the bend. I follow, not to be outdone. Suddenly there's a screech of tyres. Not the only thing screeching either. There's something in the road. Something long, thin and spiky and taking up the entire width.

Fucking tyre spikes?

I slam on the brakes.

Braking hard but unable to stop, the girl's bike rolls right over it. Her tyres are shredded and she skids, tyre rims throwing up sparks. She loses control as the front wheel twists, taking the bike down. Unable to hold on she catapults over the handlebars, her arms flailing like she's trying to fly. I can hear her scream with terror as she careens headlong through the air, her momentum barely impeded by the braking action. The inevitable happens and a bone-crushing thump cuts off her scream as she collides with a tree. I wanna help her but I got serious problems of my own.

Going too fast to avoid the spikes, I feel 'em rip into the Harley's tyres and I fight to keep the bike under control. Mighta worked but for one thing; the 'Saki toppling right into my path. The bikes collide and suddenly I'm hurtling through the air too, my bike somersaulting after me. Something big and immovable hits me with devastating force. A tree. Something very mobile, very noisy and stinking of hot fuel hits me from behind, crushing me, tearing into flesh, making a blood spattered Canuck sandwich outta me. I fall to the ground, vision blurred and turning dark.

As I lie there fighting to stay conscious I sense a presence overshadowing me and I know this thing ain't over. The presence moves, raising something thick and long over its head. A pickaxe handle maybe? It falls, smashing into my skull, bringing with it an explosion of pain that supersedes the one inflicted by the crash. If it wasn't for the adamantium I'd be dead meat.

Whoever the fucker is, he's just getting warmed up coz he's raising his bludgeon again. It comes down with clinical precision, over and over, delivering a series of relentless, agonising blows. I try to move, fight back, but my legs won't work so I go defensive, curling up into a ball, instinctively protecting my head with my arms.

A whack to the base of my skull knocks me senseless. Not the bludgeon this time. Felt like a kick from a steel toecap. The blows continue to rain down and as every one finds it mark I'm pushed closer to the edge of oblivion. The bastard's intent on beating me to death and doing a damn good job of it. I'm helpless to prevent it. Smacking into the tree musta caused a shitload of internal damage and whoever this sonuvabitch is he ain't giving me time to heal up. Can't see who it is coz there's too much blood in my eyes. My other senses don't fail me. I can hear guttural laughter, smell hot, fetid breath on my face. The scent's all too familiar. So's the voice.

"Yer so fucking predictable, runt!"

Large hands grip my wrists, drag them away from my head. A heavy boot pins them to the ground leaving my head unprotected.

One last blow, full of malice and murder, strikes me in the face and everything goes away.

0

Coming to ain't none too pleasant. I hurt like a motherfucker. Musta been some beating Sabretooth gave me. My face is encrusted with dried blood which cracks and flakes as I moisten my lips. Room reeks of blood and sad to say, it's all mine. Ain't the only thing I can smell. The air is cloying, infused with the stink of concrete, damp and disuse. There's a sharp taint of ozone too. Figure it has something to do with the low, monotonous hum I can hear. Sabretooth's gamey musk is fresh and his personal hygiene ain't improved none since our last encounter. One thing I'm sure of though, he ain't close by, ain't in the room, so I crack my eyelids open. Above me is a concrete ceiling painted white and flaking in places. The air feels dead, oppressive, like I'm underground and the air ain't being circulated. Harsh fluorescent light does the place no favours. What I can see of the room is cell like but the dimensions are generous and from what I can see I'm in the centre, lying, spread-eagled, on my back, the surface beneath me hard and uncompromising. I try to turn my head and that's when I discover I can't move. Can't even wriggle. Can't pop the claws either. I'm pinned down so thoroughly I can hardly believe it.

Fuck!

Ain't drugs coz my muscles are working fine. Can feel 'em tensing and relaxing; straining to move my limbs. But I can't. Not even a pinky. It's like I've developed über-mass or something. Like my body had become too heavy to lift.

What's more I'm as naked as a Thanksgiving turkey about to be basted and baked.

Peachy.

Can't feel any straps or chains restraining me which shortens the possibilities. Since I refuse to accept I've been super-glued into submission and I can't smell the tell tale sweetness of cyanoacrylate, that further reduces the options. The hum is an electric motor, no doubt about that. And I've been rendered as helpless as this a few times coz of the metal on my bones. Figure there's a fucking industrial strength electro-magnet right under my ass.

Okay, this is a serious setback.

Heavy footfalls approaching. Looks like I'm gonna have company. The air stirs as a door opens. The draught is cool on my flesh and carries a musky, unwashed reek.

Sabretooth.

He's wearing a grimy brown duster with an equally grimy leather vest and jeans underneath. The stench of three day crotch wafts off him.

"Woken up have ya, runt? Took yer fuckin' time."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too!"

His fist hammers into the side of my head and I see stars. Could be worse. Coulda been whatever he used on me back on the road. He flexes bruised and bloody fingers and I watch them heal in seconds.

"I give ya the best room in the house and you give me attitude. People got no fuckin' respect these days."

The strip light overhead is eclipsed by his bulk as he leers at me, bathing my face in terminal halitosis. I hear a metallic click and servos fire up. The magnetic table under me judders and begins an inclined rise, raising my head and lowering my feet. Another click and the table quits moving, leaving my head roughly thirty degrees from upright.

"Magneto thought ya'd be too sharp ta fall fer a pussy trap but I knew better. No way a horny li'l mutt like you was gonna resist a piece o' ass like that."

Magneto? "He went to Alcatraz and got the cure. Since when do you hire out to losers like that?" Actually that ain't a hard question to answer coz Creed's the biggest fucking loser of 'em all. Classic example of like attracting like.

"If a guy pays me shitloads o' cees ta break things and rip the heads off cocksuckers who cares if he got fucked up by you an' yer blue boyfriend."

"Was the girl on the payroll too?"

"Hell no. She was a skip tracer looking to collect a big fat bounty. Good at it too which is why Magneto chose her. O' course, her bein' stacked like that was value added. Only a stupid jerk off like you woulda fell for the oldest trick inna book."

Yeah, I did. And yeah she was good. Got my name and identified her mark while all I got was a righteous case of the hots. Played me like a Fender and I never picked up on it coz my brain was trying to bust outta my fly. Like to have a word with her about that but she musta clipped that tree at something like sixty miles an hour. Human flesh and bones are resilient but ain't designed to take an assault like that. Girl thought she was bringing in a bail jumper and it cost her everything. What a tragic fucking waste. I can only hope she died instantly coz this psychotic bastard woulda made her suffer.

"Where is she now?"

"Splat City. Mighta been a scrawny baseline but she was a tasty frail and woulda made a mighty fine dick ornament while I waited for my pick up. Shame I never got ta try her on before she gave that tree a high velocity Frenchie. Got my rocks off though, her moanin' like a hot whore as she bled out. Lasted a lot longer than them two pansies she had waitin' for ya. Pissed 'emselves as I cut their throats, can ya believe that? Reckon I did 'em a favour."

Jeezus! How many civilians did he off to get to me? "You are a fucking dead man walking, Creed."

WHAM!

His fist lashes out a second time, hitting me in the mouth, mashing my lower lip. Sharp edged molars cut into my tongue and I spit blood. I wanna spit in his face but I can't turn my head.

Again, he flexes his fingers as his healing factor deals with the result of hitting flesh covered adamantium. "See, there ya go again. Disrespectin'. Pissin' me off. Ya sure are slow upstairs, asswipe."

"Let me loose and I'll show ya who's slow ya shit fer brains psycho."

WHAM!

This time he backhands me, opening up the healing gash on my lip. "Temptin', but I'm havin' way too much fun."

"Spineless piece of..."

Creed don't wait for me to finish. Bellowing like a bull with its balls caught in a razor wire fence he lays into me.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Using both fists he breaks my nose and pulps the flesh of my face, his own face a twisted mask of insane hatred.

"Sabretooth! Enough!"

The punishment ceases and Creed steps away, panting heavily, his fists bloodied, most of it mine.

"I asked you to check on our guest. I did not give you leave to exercise your customary boorish behaviour."

This is too surreal. Magneto's lost it. When the cure wiped out his mutant powers it musta took his mind too. Creed's a stone killer who could take him out with one punch. Ya don't play prissy games with an animal like that. Ya certainly don't go schoolteacher on his ass when his blood's up. And why the fuck is Creed backing off like a chastised kitty? Must be some fucking health package Mags laid on his toy soldiers.

"Wolverine, I have in my possession several hundred thousand doses of the cure. I intend to use them to separate the sheep from the wolves."

"Really? I'd go with culling the goose stepping assholes outta the flock myself. Oh wait..."

"The runt needs an attitude correction."

Creed steps into my line of sight, fist raised, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. First chance I get I'm gonna skin the prick and turn his hide into a novelty rug.

Magneto brings his own hand up, checking Creed's progress with a firm, "Later, my friend." He twists his lips into that creepy smile of his. "Some wolves cannot be permitted to run with the pack and create havoc. You are included in this number. In a few moments I will administer the cure but before I do let me assure you the same fate awaits all of the X traitors who stood against me at Alcatraz."

Like that's gonna happen. "You mean the handful of X Men who defeated your army of cretins and kicked your fucking Nazi ass?"

"Quite so. But your victory was only a temporary setback. Beast will be the next to share your fate since I hold him equally responsible for perpetrating this crime against me."

Can't help laughing. Hank would probably welcome to the cure. "Mess with the X Men and yer gonna get yer ass handed to ya in a paper bag. Again."

Ignoring the jibe he continues. "Cyclops, Storm and the juvenile offenders will follow in whatever order opportunity presents. Of course, I cannot permit Charles to keep his powers either. He has interfered in my affairs for the last time."

"You're coming across as a third rate, poor man's Hitler. Der Fuhrer woulda been real fucking proud of ya."

A tic starts up in his left eye. I'm getting to him. Chuck told me about Magneto's history, about the death camp and his family. Fucking ironic he's become the biggest Nazi of 'em all.

"The children will be given a choice. They can either join me or take the cure."

"Some choice."

"Every mutant will be offered this choice. Those who prefer to shrink away from their genetic heritage will cease to be mutants and join the baseline cattle."

"Get real, buckethead. Ya really think that a de-powered lowlife like you's gonna front up the mutant revolution? Never happen."

Magneto's smile is cold. "People are flocking to the cause as we speak. I might have lost my powers at Alcatraz but mutants everywhere saw the writing on the wall and their anger motivates them to take a stand against those who would steal their birthright."

Hold the damn bus. What the fuck is wrong with this? "But you ain't a mutant no more. Why d'ya give a shit about any of this?"

"That is something your limited feral intellect will never comprehend."

Bastard's oozing smug superiority. Well here's what I think of that.

"Oh yeah? Ya think I can't recognise a delusional shithead when I see one?"

A grimace twists his face into a sinister mask. Reckon I hit base with that one. "It is you who are deluded, Wolverine. There can be no peaceful coexistence between _homo sapiens_ and _homo superior _because the humans will never allow it. Charles did you no great favour polluting your mind with his perfidious, dual species utopia. Such a pity. You could have been a valuable asset to our cause."

"You can take yer cause, stuff it in a jackboot and shove it up yer Nazi ass."

Magneto gives me one of his pitying, disappointed father looks. "Victor, it is time."

"Past time if ya ask me." Creed flashes me an evil grin. "I'm gonna enjoy this, runt."

"Making sure I can't fight back, huh? Just what I'd expect from a lily-livered, back-stabbing cheese dick like you."

"RAAAARRRRGH! I'm gonna rip yer fuckin' guts out and choke ya with 'em."

"Victor, control yourself. Wolverine is attempting to delay the inevitable."

Damn right I am. If I can get these two at each other's throat I might just pull my fat outta the fire.

"Creed's a murdering, dumb as rocks maggot. Yer gonna sell him as the poster child for mutant supremacy? Gimme a fucking break. No one's gonna buy into a wacked-out pile of crap like that. 'Sides, if ya succeed d'ya really think he's gonna keep a de-powered freak like you around to run the show?"

Magneto smiles. "A divide and conquer strategy? Very clever. And as subtle as a fox in a henhouse. Do not worry yourself about such details because you will not live long enough to witness the Mutant Dawn."

Got news fer ya, bub. Ain't gonna be no mutant dawn, just one blood red fucking sunset.

"So what the hell is this about? Ya gonna cure me so ya can kill me?"

There's a nasty gleam in his eyes. I reckon I've seen friendlier pissed off rattlesnakes. "Administer the cure, most certainly. I shall deprive you of your phenomenal senses and your healing factor with the same callous disregard you demonstrated when you stole my power over magnetism. However, when Victor and I depart this place you will be very much alive. Look upon it as me returning the compliment."

"That's yer big plan is it? Ya gonna leave me here to starve to death?"

"You will be dead long before that eventuality, my friend. From thirst and the ravages of adamantium poisoning. I understand that either death is extremely unpleasant. When combined..." He lets his words trail off.

There's a flaw in yer plan, buttwad. Xavier. "Yer all heart."

"Of course, if Charles is able to locate you in a bunker buried deep underground he is welcome to you." Magneto pauses, looking thoughtful. "But then you are embarked upon one of your sojourns are you not? Your disappearance will go unremarked. And in the remote event that he does search for you he will be searching for a difficult to trace mutant who no longer exists. I surmise those circumstances reduce your chances of rescue to virtually zero."

Yeah, well virtually is gonna get it's fucking head kicked in and when it does I'll give ya something to surmise.

"I say we should kill him now. Can't risk havin' the X pussies findin' 'im." Creed growls.

"Patience, Victor. It matters little if he is rescued because medical intervention will only prolong his agonizing demise. Without his healing factor to protect him Wolverine's body will succumb the toxic effects of the very thing that makes him strong; adamantium Let the man enjoy what time he has left to contemplate the error of his ways."

"And live ta open his trap ta Xavier?"

"You underestimate Charles. Henry McCoy will already have appraised him of the missing cure serum. He understands the loss of my powers will not deter me from my goal and he knows my revenge upon himself and his students will be forthcoming. Wolverine can tell him nothing he does not already know."

Creed don't look happy. "That's fucked up."

"A dose of the serum if you please, Victor."

He's gonna do it. He's gonna shoot me up with that crap and there's fuck all I can do to stop him. Well the hell with that. I ain't gonna beg for my life. One small mercy though. Mags spilling his guts bought me time to heal from Creed's beating. I'm gonna live. I'm gonna escape and survive long enough to put these motherfuckers in the ground.

Needle in hand Magneto moves closer.

"The symptoms of Adamantium poisoning are extremely unpleasant. Your body will betray you. Overwhelmed by toxins, you'll waste to a mere shell of your current self. Suffering unbearable pain, you'll haemorrhage internally and one by one your organs will cease to function."

His eyes are wide, intense. The pale blue irises are cold, hard; raw hunger pooling in them. I can smell his anticipation, his triumph. It's almost orgasmic.

"Finally, like the rabid beast you are, your life will end in violent suffering; your body racked by unceasing convulsions. You'll beg for death but you'll be powerless to affect swift mercy upon yourself. In your last moments, seizures will destroy your brain and your heart will fail from complete exhaustion."

"Not before I eat yer fuckin' heart, you scum-sucking slimeball."

"This will hurt," he assures me, face solemn. Hand rock steady he inserts the needle into my throat and for a few seconds all I feel is a stinging sensation.

And then the burning starts.

Liquid fire sears through my veins and my muscles spasm, racking me with pain. I wanna thrash about but I'm pinned to the table like a fucking lab specimen. I can feel my healing factor battling the poison, trying to flush it out of my body through my pores; whatever the outcome it ain't going quietly. And then it's over. As suddenly as it came the pain is gone and I lie there gasping for breath, feeling the flop sweat forming beads of moisture across my brow.

"Victor. If you please."

Creed grins; bloodlust plastered across his ugly mug.

WHAM.

The fucker hits me in the face and doesn't pull his punch. Both of them stand there, watching intently. Blood runs freely, dribbling down my face and onto my chest. And then stops. I can feel the damage knitting back together. The cure didn't take.

Way to go healing factor!

"It didn't work asshole. I'm immune."

"It was to be expected. Let us see how you cope with ten doses."

Ten? Now wait a fucking minute! Panic sets in. My healing factor struggled with just one dose. Ten doses means I'm on an express train to shit city. The icy hand of fear squeezes my gut into a hard knot. I do _not _like where this is going.

Magneto disappears from view and returns moments later steering a rickety pushcart covered by a white cloth. He parks it in front of me and tosses aside the cloth revealing a large vial of clear blue liquid, a long, thin plastic packet and the largest fucking horse syringe I've ever seen. Tearing open the packet he extracts a needle big enough to stab a bull elephant to death and makes a show of attaching it to the syringe. Hook up completed he turns to me.

"I am truly sorry it had to come to this."

That's it? My epitaph's a line outta some crap movie? This ain't an execution, it's the fucking Twilight Zone.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be you sadistic motherfucker."

A sigh escapes his lips. Without another word he picks up the vial, upends it, sticks the needle into the cap and draws serum. Discarding the now empty vial he points the business end of the syringe at the ceiling, flicks the barrel with a finger and expels the trapped air in a spurt of fluid. Satisfied, he cradles the thing in his palm like it's precious, like it's the Holy fucking Grail. And then he just stands there. Looking like an undertaker in the weird suit he wears. Watching me with pitiless, reptilian eyes.

Waiting.

Waiting for what? For me to beg for mercy? Be a cold day in hell first. What he does get is my best fuck off and die snarl. My defiance snaps him out of his immobility.

Sombre as a priest administering last rites he looms over me, syringe poised for action. I can feel the needle grazing my neck and my muscles tense, anticipating the pain of injection and what will follow. It don't happen. Instead he traces a path across my collarbone and onto my chest where he begins to palpitate the V where my ribs meet. Instinctively I suck in my breath, tightening my diaphragm, expecting to be speared under my ribs and through the heart. But no! He's fucking with me again. Taunting me.

The needle's on the move, tracking south along my belly, coming to a rest over my pubic bone.

He can't!

He wouldn't!

Horror grips me; freezes the blood in my veins, slithers down my spine and shrivels my balls to acorns. If only my dick could make like an ostrich and shove it's head up my butt…

The man really is totally bugfuck crazy! Out of options I got nothing to lose. I remove the mental shackles that keeps me human and turn my animal loose. Rage and adrenalin surge through my body, summoning the primal berserker strength that's saved my ass so many times. Desperate, I try to tear myself free but even the berserker is powerless against the force pinning me down. This time there's no escape. As gruesome possibilities play out in my mind Magneto plunges the needle into my groin, nailing the femoral artery, shooting me up with liquid doom.

This time the burning's instantaneous; a firestorm surging through my bloodstream on a seek and destroy mission. Gotta fight it. Can't let this lousy fucking X-gene annihilator take me down; take away what I am. I've beaten it once and I can do it again.

I _will _kick the crap outta this fucking poison.

I WILL!

I...

I...

God help me I can't.

I can't stop it!

The poison spreads swiftly; invasive; corrosive; unchecked. It hits my nervous system and the pain goes nova as every muscle in my body explodes into violent spasms. An agonised howl fills my head. Shit, izzat me?

Yes.

The hellish torment intensifies as the gene-killer inundates my cells and seizes control. The howl is choked off. Completely overcome, my body locks up tighter than a virgin's cherry, paralysing me.

Jeezus I can't breathe. Can't expand my lungs.

Panic sinks her talons deep.

Can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as my heart races to compensate for the sudden dip in available oxygen. Long, slow seconds tick by and still there's no let up; my chest's a pressure cooker, its release valve jammed shut. Oxygen deprivation sends my brain into crisis, filling my head with a dull buzz that quickly builds into a roar. Vision's gone crazy, shot through with blinding neon flashes.

Magneto fucked up. The cure ain't just killing my mutation, it's killing me.

Agony's way off the scale. Healing factor's gone. Can feel death coiling inside me like a cornered snake.

No!

Don't wanna fucking die.

Not like this.

Not helpless as a baby.

My brain's last gasp send bolts of blinding white light across my vision. Everything around me wavers and fades. One by one my senses switch off dragging reality with 'em.

I'm still here?

I'm breathing?

Thank fucking Christ! Musta blacked out. Thought I was a goner for sure back there. Something's wrong though. Something ain't right. I feel spaced.

Different.

Still woozy. Feel sick as a dog. Clenching my eyes and swallowing hard does no good. Stomach's rebelling with the after shock and I taste bile in the back of my throat.

I gonna hurl but…

WHAM.

What the fuck?

Creed fixes my queasiness with a knuckle sandwich.

Skin splits open, pain flares, blood flows and this time it don't stop.

I wanna kill 'em. Tear 'em both limb from fucking limb. Rage floods through me as time passes and the cuts don't heal.

"I do believe our business here has been concluded, Victor. Come. Let us leave the Wolverine to his solitary contemplation."

I hear Magneto marching from the room. Can't see him leave coz his pet ape is blocking the view.

Creed crooks a finger and strokes it along my jaw. The touch is soft, like that of a lover and I get to wondering just how depraved this fucker really is. Maybe depraved enough to switch off the electro-magnet and turn me over? Yeah, do it bub. A split second's all I need to chop ya off and be outta here. Without warning his hand darts forward and he sinks a claw into my chest, gouging a diagonal line from my left shoulder to about four inches beneath my right nipple. Then he repeats the cut, this time beginning with my right shoulder, marking me with a ragged bloody X. It burns like I've been branded.

Blood dripping, he raises the finger to his lips and licks slowly, savouring the flavour, rolling the blood around his tongue. Too much too hope that I'm so shot full of the cure that little dip dab will take his healing factor out. I watch for the signs but there ain't any. Taste test over he grins and shows blood-streaked fangs.

"Ain't as spicy as it used ta be. Lost some of its pee-quan-cee. Now ya taste just like baseline trash. Ya ain't as immune as ya thought, are ya runt."

I force a laugh. "Neither are you! If Maggie can wipe my healing factor out he can do for yours too."

That wipes the smile off his face but only for a moment.

"When I'm ready, Magneto's toast. Meanwhile lemme leave ya wi' this thought. I'm gonna rip all them X bitches from the crotch up when I fuck 'em ta death. And I'm gonna save that little slut yer so fond of 'til last. Heard the li'l cow went chickenshit and took the cure. That means she ain't untouchable no more. She'll die screamin' yer name, I promise yer that. Hatin' ya with everythin' she's got coz it'll be all your fault."

I wanna think Creed's just playing head games with me but I know he'll make good his promise first chance he gets and I ain't having none of that.

"You lay one filthy paw on any of them and so help me..."

WHAM!

My head explodes with pain. As the room wavers and dissolves into blackness I can hear Creed's filthy laughter.

"Yer too dumb ta live ya piece o' shit. But Magneto's right. I'm gonna leave ya here, stuck to this magnet an' alone wi' yer thoughts. Leave ya to imagine what I'm gonna do ta all them X bitches. Maybe I'll give ya an extra special treat. Drag yer special li'l Roguey all the way back here," he grabs his crotch and leers, "an' do her right in front of ya."

"Ya sick bastard! I'm gonna..."

"Yer gonna do nuthin'."

WHAM!

His boot comes up and slams into my groin. Indescribable excruciation rips through me and I wanna scream. Can't. Unable to breathe or go foetal, all I can do is gasp like a stranded fish while hot tears stream from my eyes.

Tears ain't the only thing streaming. Bile, volcanic hot and unstoppable, surges upwards and erupts from my mouth. Creed roars as semi-digested steak and fixings splatter him square on.

"Yer gonna pay fer that, runt."

WHAM!

I hardly feel Creed's final blow as it sends me spinning into oblivion.

**Worth a second chapter? You tell us. Sunshine & Sweetheart.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

_Whuth'fuck?_

Sumthin' cold and wet gushing down my face and sloshing onto my chest. Water? Startled out of oblivion, I accidentally inhale the fluid and choke. My gut responds with a series of dry heaves that ignite an explosion of white hot agony behind my eyes. As gut muscles contract, the pain in my groin also intensifies, throbbing in cruel unison to my heartbeat. Fire sears my chest as the water mixes with sweat and washes the salt sting into the cuts. I'm hurting bad. Figure Creed musta continued with the beating after I passed out and now the bastard's wanting more.

"Wake up!"

The command hits me with the intensity of a slap. More so since it ain't Creed's voice, not unless he's been scoring helium. I crank open an eye, the one that ain't quite so swollen shut, and find a raven haired, blue eyed beauty staring at me, a half empty bottle in her hand poised to deliver the rest of its payload. She's dressed for outdoors; blue sweater, black gabardine pants and hiking boots. Force of habit sets me to sniffing her which brings home the hard fact my enhanced senses are screwed. I'm forced to retrieve information the old fashioned way.

"Who the fuck're you?" Shit, my voice sounds as broken as my face.

The question seems to surprise her. "You don't recognise me, Logan?"

"Should I?" I search her face looking for something familiar. Nope, nada. She knows my name but I don't know her from shit. Gimme a frigging clue will ya, lady?

"My name is Raven Darkholme but you knew me as Mystique."

The blue bitch? Seems it's my day to collect murderous scumbags and she completes the set. Yeah, I can see it now. The shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, that cute nose. She's beautiful, not that ugly was an issue when her ass was blue and scaly. Beauty's only skin deep though. Those eyes are as hard and as cold as an Alaskan winter. Figure that beneath the peaches and cream complexion she's still a double bagger clean down to the bone. Her being here can't be good. Figure another helping of seven shades is on the menu.

"What the hell do you want? Come here to admire yer boss's handiwork didja?

She screws the top back on the bottle and sets it on the floor. "He's not my boss."

"Yeah, I heard Mags dumped ya like hot shit after ya took one for him. Copping his own dose give the son of a bitch second thoughts, huh?"

Arched brows knit together in a frown. "Do you want to escape or shall I leave you here to rot?"

What the fuck's she up to? "This a trick question?"

"Quit playing dumb, Logan . We both know you're anything but."

That's a first. I search her face, looking for signs of her trademark contempt but find none. "So, you gonna get me the hell off this thing or what?"

My apparent compliance brings her a step closer. "I will let you go but first you have to give me your word."

Hell is this? "My word? That I won't kick your skanky ass from one end of Canada to the other?"

Ex lizard lady smiles and shakes her head. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Cool fingers brush my face lightly and even that touch brings pain. Unable to flinch I just glare at her.

"What do you want, Mystique?"

"I'm Raven now." The piercing blue eyes blaze with anger but I don't think it's aimed at me. "And I want you to help me."

She wants my help? After what she did? After what I did? "Why the fuck would I do that?"

Folding her arms across her chest she strikes a confident pose. The nervous pink tongue moistening her lips tells a different story. "Hear me out. You're a mess, Logan. I can see your healing factor has gone and without it you're going to die a slow and agonising death."

That was delivered without so much as a ghost of a smile. Her control is impressive.

"Hell, if I'd thought my demise would draw a crowd I'da sold tickets."

Her patience snaps revealing the true nature of the beast. Arms whip from their embrace and she marches around the table to my side. I can feel her hot breath on my face as she spits out, "Shut up you fucking retard and listen to me. I want you to help me. To team up with me while you still have the strength to be useful."

Not a born again altruist then. "And I'm gonna do that because...?"

"Because I'm going to make you an offer that not even your jackass pig-headedness will allow you to refuse. I want to give you the opportunity to get even. I want you to help me kill Erik."

Kill Erik. Never have two words sounded so good together. Kill Erik. Yeah, that works for me. So does kill Creed.

"Like you need to ask? Lemme off this goddam rack will ya?"

"Your word or I'm gone."

What the fuck is this? "I said I'll help ya. What the hell d'ya want from me?"

"Your word that when this is over we go our separate ways. No handing me over to the authorities."

She's on the lam. So that's what's got her panties in a bunch. She's powerless in more ways than one and no powers means no mutant strength. And she needs help taking down her old scumbag buddies. The same scumbags who fucked me over and pissed me off. Yeah, I wanna piece of that action.

"Well?" The intensity pooling in those cold eyes is undeniable. She wants an answer and I want my butt demagnetised. I don't see a problem with this.

"To off Mags we need to go through Creed first. Add Creed's severed head to the deal and I'll give you whatever word ya like." Plus a few ya don't like.

Raven laughs. The sound is cold and brittle; treacherous as broken glass. "I knew I could count on you. Consider Creed's head as a bonus."

"That's nice. Now switch the fucking magnet off will ya?"

Without another word Raven stoops to operate the controls. A click and the table judders and begins to drop to the horizontal. Another click and the electronic hum dies, freeing me. Moving gingerly, trying not to aggravate the agony radiating from my groin, I swing my legs over the edge of the table and use the momentum to sit up. Dizziness and nausea strike and I fight them off.

An arm snakes around my shoulders. It's gentle. It's warm. It's gonna get ripped from its socket.

"Let me help you."

Like ya helped Rogue? I don't think so.

"Get yer fucking paws off me." I'm none too gentle pushing her away. Don't want help from the likes of her. Not the touching kind.

"Hey, take it easy you asshole," she snarls, slapping my hands away as she backs off.

Not far enough. Still too damn close for comfort. Past experience won't let my relax my guard so I watch her like a hawk. She relaxes her posture, folding her arms across her chest once more, shifting her weight onto her right hip. Manicured fingers set up a silent beat on her biceps, an outward sign of her annoyance. She's waiting. Waiting for me to get my shit together.

At first I do okay, finding my feet and pushing myself upright. Then the room lurches and my knees hit the floor with bruising force. Fucking concrete is as unforgiving as I am. Mystique shakes her head, eyes narrowed, watching me grip the table and struggle to my feet.

"Pig headed," she mutters. "Stay here and I'll find your clothes."

Stay here. Yeah, I can do that. Hopefully without falling on my ass again. So fucking weak I can't believe it. A side effect from the cure overdose? Hope that's all it is otherwise my vengeance rampage is fucked before it starts.

"I see you didn't go quietly," she says as she hands me a bundle of blood-soaked rags.

"Shoulda seen the other guy," I reply as I carefully pull on the tattered and deeply stained jeans. The blood is dry, the material stiff with it. How long have I been cooped up in this hole? While I shrug on my shirt she takes to pacing. Not used to seeing Mystique nervous as a rat in a snake pit. It's an experience.

"We need to move quickly before they return," she urges.

Pulling my socks on is a torment. I wouldn't bother but I know I'll regret it if I don't. "They ain't coming back. They left me to rot."

The pacing halts and she turns to me. "Want to bet your life on that?"

Do I? "Nope."

"There's hope for you yet." A smirk twists her lips.

My bootlaces defeat me so Raven, she sure as hell ain't acting like Mystique, pushes aside my hands and ties them for me. Like I'm some fucking brat to be mother-henned. I don't need that especially from a cast iron bitch like her.

Retrieving a duffel from around the base of the table she stows the bottle and shoulders the bag. "I have a JetRanger hidden a couple of miles away. The terrain's rough and steep, think you can manage it?"

"Sister, I'll get there if I have to crawl."

"Let's hope it won't come to that. We'll move faster if you let me help you. Take my arm."

Ya might want my help but I don't want yours, bitch. "Back off. I'll get outta this stinking hole under my own steam."

She shrugs and steps away, a sneer of contempt twisting her mouth. "Have it your own way you macho prick."

And I do. Walking is hell but I resist cradling my aching crotch as I execute a fast old man's shuffle to the door. Ain't gonna give her the satisfaction of seeing me suffer too much. The hall outside is long, dank and dim. The emergency lights cast poor illumination but without them we'd be in pitch black. Ain't too proud to use the wall for support as I follow her. Manage a fair clip too as muscles knotted by inactivity and punishment ease. And then we reach the stairs. They're steep and according to the sign were in sub-basement six. Fuck!

"Ain't there a lift?" God I sound like a whiney brat.

"Not anymore."

Goddammit! She stands there, hand on hip, her gaze cool and thoughtful. She arches a dark eyebrow.

"Has your dumb male pride run out of steam yet?"

"Ya think I can't climb a few fucking flights?"

A mocking smile quirks one side of her mouth. "I'll take that as a no."

Without another word she turns and begins a nimble ascent. Any other day I'd admire the way her buns twitch inside those pants as she pumps her slender legs. Strange how stomped nuts can modify a guy's interest. Course, I got more important things on my mind right now. Not keeling over and fainting like a girl for instance.

She's as agile as a gymnast and takes the stairs two at a time, the cow. In no time at all she reaches the top of the flight and disappears from view. Me? I'm about as agile as a ruptured slug. Feel like one too. Gripping the handrail like my life depends on it I haul myself up using pure willpower. Strength's failing, leaching away, leaving me weak and fighting for breath. Don't help that I'm sweating like a sumo wrestler in a steam bath with the effort. By the time I reach the top I'll look like a wrung out rag. Sweat stings my open wounds but I use the pain as a goad, forcing myself onwards and upwards.

Okay, I made the first flight. Only eleven more to go. If I'm lucky. Raven's footsteps echo down the stair well. At least one of us is making progress. Figure I might go faster on all fours. I'm right. Clambering is much easier. I make the next flight in no time at all.

Sub-basement Five the sign says. Ten more flights to go.

Over three hundred pounds of muscle, bone and adamantium take their toll, quickly robbing me of strength. Nauseated, panting for breath, my head pounding fit to burst, I sink onto the top tread of the next landing, stealing a few seconds to try and gather strength for the next flight. I ache like a sonuvabitch. Clambering may be faster but it's hard on my joints which feel like jagged rocks grinding together. I'm bruised and battered but I don't think Creed damaged anything vital except for my jewels. Why the fuck do I feel so bad? Surely adamantium poisoning don't take effect so damn quick?

"You okay down there?"

Bitch makes it sound like I told ya so.

"Sure, darlin'. Be with ya in no time," I holler back.

"Logan , why don't you quit this machismo bullshit and let me help you. We'll get out of here a lot faster."

"Why don't you bite me!?" Bitch's right. Which is why I'm gonna prove her wrong.

"If Erik returns you're on your own."

"Blah, blah, blah."

Her mocking laughter gets me up another flight. Comes at a high price.

Stairway starts to roll like a ship in a squall and smacks me upside the head. 'M I greying out or is it all the fucking concrete? And why does everything look so damn far away?

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Huh?" Mystique's looking down on me. How the hell did she get down here so fast?

"And you're a bitch on wheels," I croak. Shit, even my voice is betraying me.

"Fine, we've established our credentials, now give it up. We're losing valuable time."

Not so fast. Got the cottonmouth from hell and a raging thirst going on here. "Need water."

Without a word she shrugs the duffel from her shoulder and produces the goods. The water sloshes around as my trembling hand raises the bottle to my lips. Bruised and torn flesh stings as I pucker and chug greedily.

"Easy does it, Logan ." Her warning arrives a fraction too late. The water hits my stomach and surges upwards in a sour rush; splattering down the steps. The non-productive dry heaving's worse. All I can do is hold my head in my hands until the nausea and dizziness quit. A cool, moistened tissue wipes the sweat outta my eyes. This Florence Nightingale act of hers is really creeping me out.

"Just a sip this time," she says, pressing the bottle to my lips.

Good advice. The water stays down and I'm feeling a mite less puny.

"Thanks," I reply, wiping the foulness from lips with my sleeve before handing back the bottle. She stows it in the bag.

"Come on, soldier, throw your arm across my shoulder and I'll give you a hand."

Ain't got much choice so I accept the offer. To my surprise she feels warm, pliable and soft. Shedding the scales suits her. Her arm encircles my waist. Unable to help myself I give her shoulders an experimental squeeze and she laughs. It's a nice sound.

"Stryker might have ripped apart your life and your memories but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't erase the real you."

The real me? "You talk like we're buddies. Like we know each other." And there's that getting way too familiar in the tent thing. "What's with that?"

"We used to...work together."

What? "As in Brotherhood working together?"

"No. Before that. Before there was a Magneto or a Brotherhood."

Before? Magneto's an old guy. How fucking old am I? Scratch that. How old is _she_?

"Bullshit!"

Raven shrugs. "Believe it. We go back a long way, Romeo."

Romeo? What the fuck! "How far?" Hook up with the likes of you and I deserve another swift kick in the 'nads.

"Not now. You need to focus your strength on getting out of here. Move it."

I wanna know more but this ain't the right time. I need to warn McCoy, warn the X Men. Time to get my ass in the wind.

Sounds easy.

It ain't.

Every step is a battle I gotta win. Without her as a crutch I'd roll back down to the bottom. Fucking metal coated bones are as heavy as hell but Raven never lets go. We rest a coupla times, I sip water and then continue the ascent. Much of it passes in a blur of pain and wooziness. Every damn step is a trial, each one more gruelling than the last. Gotta keep moving coz to stop is unthinkable. She ain't behaving like Mystique but I can't trust her to warn Hank, warn the others. She's taken it on herself to keep me moving though. When I falter her harsh invective goads me into action. Is it anatomically possible to do that with a Harley?

"We made it," she announces, breathless.

Takes a few seconds for the message to sink into my fuzzy mind. "How 'bout that," I gasp as I sag.

"Oh no you don't," she warns, gripping me tighter. "You can pass out when we're safe and not before."

"Whatever ya say, darlin'."

"Then I say move your ass."

Don't have the breath for smartass cracks. She takes the hall to the left and I stumble along on rubbery legs trying not to burden her with my weight. The air's cooler; fresher. Ahead a wan light penetrates the gloom from somewhere overhead and at the end of hall is a metal door. Eager to get out of this hole I reach for the handle.

"Not so fast." Her hand whips out, pulling mine back.

Dammit, I know better than that.

"Kay."

"Try not to fall on your ass," she whispers as her grip falls away.

Propping my fatigued wreck of a body against the wall I gasp out, "Can I fall on my face?".

"There's a difference?"

Hinges creak as she cracks open the door and peers cautiously outside. More light floods in as she pulls the door wider and slips through the gap. Seconds creep by as she pads around checking out the surroundings.

"We're good to go," she announces as she steps inside.

With Raven's arm snug around my waist once more, I emerge into a heavily overcast day. Fresh air. Thank fuck for that. I suck deep to expel the funk of mildewed concrete. The sweet smell of damp earth and grass fills my nostrils; revives me like an elixir.

"Do you recognise this place?"

"Dunno."

I cast my gaze around the landscape. The base and its surrounding compound is an ugly malignancy squatting on a low rise at one end of a pocket valley that's about a mile and a half long and roughly half that wide. The land gently falls away, the terrain a mixture of outcrops, meadow and firs. Occupying a third of the valley is a lake, its steel grey waters rippled by the wind. The cloud ceiling is low, wreathing the surrounding peaks in thick grey mist, cloaking anything that might be a distinctive feature. Off in the distance the eerie cry of a lone raptor rends the tranquillity. Instinct tells me I'm still in Canada but Canada's a fucking big place.

"You saying I should?"

"You really don't remember?" She sounds and looks surprised.

Aching, hacked off and too tired to play games, I snap out a, "No."

"This is Mordant Base. You, me, Creed and a few others operated out of here for over five years."

I hear the words but they don't make sense. Her? Creed? And me? Working as a goddam team? Hacked off escalates to rage and disbelief. What sort of fucking head-game is she playing?

"The hell we did!"

A slight, humourless smile dimples her cheeks and she shrugs.

"Where the fuck are we?" I demand.

Jerking her thumb over her shoulder she says, " Banff is about two eighty clicks south east of here. As the eagle flies."

"Where's our ride out of here?"

"In a valley the other side of that ridge. That L-shaped notch is a small pass connecting it with this valley. There's a game trail that will get me up there quickly."

The narrow ridge she indicates is low but steep. Gonna take everything I have and then some to reach it.

Hold on.

What was that she said?

"Get _you _up there?"

"I just dragged your sorry ass up twelve flights of stairs. You think I'm going to drag it all the way to the top of that ridge?"

Lady has a point. No telling if she plans on returning but I ain't gonna wuss out and show it bothers me. "Can ya gimme some more of that water?"

What she pulls out of her bag ain't no bottle, it's an aerosol. Curiosity gets the better of me when she begins to spray herself all over.

"What's that?"

"Biochemically enhanced Creed deterrent. Masks our scent and leaves a trail of grief for anyone with enhanced senses. One sniff of this will fry the bastard's nose and make his eyes water like Niagara Falls. Good for up to an hour. Works on Wolverines too."

"How about baselines?" Impossible to keep the bitterness outta that question.

"I don't see you blubbing."

"Right." Just what I need. Another confirmation my powers are completely fucked. She shoves the spray into my hand.

"Do my back will you?" I comply, spraying the fine mist over her hair and clothing. "Your turn," she announces, taking back the can.

The spray stings like hell when it settles on open wounds. I don't give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Job done, she stows the can back in the bag.

"Come on, let's go." Raven's arm takes up station once more.

She's gotta be exhausted from hauling my carcass outta the depths. Terrain ain't too bad here so I figure I can manage for a while. "Thanks, but I got it."

"Ok," she replies, her expression guarded. "But time isn't on our side…"

"Yeah, I know. Enemy's at the gate and they've brung enough kick-ass to fuck us twice over. Lead on, darlin'."

We make good time on a narrow footpath but soon the terrain reminds me we're deep in the Canadian Rockies. Shit on it! Any other time I'd be in my element; loving every second, embracing the toughest mother nature can muster. Right now I'm wishing she wasn't such a_ mother_.

We're traversing a steep, rocky ravine. Raven's scouting some way ahead and I'm shambling like a babe taking its first steps. Damp moss and loose stone make the footing treacherous. The ravine walls are also slick with moisture and don't save me from falling on all fours when my boots slip. Me cursing a blue streak halts Raven in her tracks. She turns, hands on her hips, her slim figure partially outlined by the cloud pale sky. Fuck! Is that pity I see on her face? Bitch's feeling sorry? For _me_? How much worse can this shit get? I manage to struggle to my feet but after a coupla steps I'm reduced to clambering, scrabbling for holds on any damn thing that looks attached to something solid.

She starts back down, picking her way carefully through loose rock and mud. "Macho hour's over, Logan. Time for Nurse Darkholme to give you a hand."

"Nurse this," I growl, flipping her a muddy finger.

"Love to," she replies, a lascivious grin parting her lips, "but we need to get the hell away from here first. Come on, not far now."

Bitch. "How far's the chopper now?"

She turns and points. "See the rock that looks like a crouching cat? Up there."

Ah geeze. The ravine's bad enough but that other incline's something else.

"Yer bird's up there?" Question comes out in a harsh rasp. 'I'm hurting, I'm fatigued and I'm pushing way beyond my endurance.

She shakes her head. "Beyond that is a steep descent. Not far but it's a rough haul."

I'm fucked. "Kay. Let's get 'er done," I groan.

"Hold on tight, soldier." Her arm enfolds me once more. The experience makes my ass hairs bristle. She's the enemy and it ain't natural.

"Thought ya said ya weren't gonna haul my butt up the mountain."

"I'm not."

"Ya sure got a funny way of showing it."

"I'm the joker in the pack. Now shut the fuck up and save your breath for the climb."

"Yes, ma'am."

With her help I make steady progress. Finally we emerge from the ravine and into an area of scrubby pine and frost shattered rock.

"At this rate it's going to be Christmas," she announces, steering me towards a flat boulder. I sit, grateful for the break.

"Fine. Just don't ask me to decorate a tree."

Raven chuckles, drops down next to me and grabs the water bottle from the bag. It's full, having been replenished from a stream we passed a ways back.

"Water?"

"Yeah." I take a chug and hand it back.

She does the same and waggles it at me. I shake my head and the bottle gets stowed.

A playful wind tugs at her hair and a few strands stick to her sweat beaded face. Brushing them away she mops her brow with her sleeve and gazes at the sky. She's a real looker, I'll give her that. Ain't fathomed what her game is yet but I will. And if she goes bad on me I'll kill her. Part of me hopes it won't come to that.

"Weather's closing in," she announces. Like I haven't got fucking eyes? "I need to get to the chopper before the rain starts. Can't fly it if I break my neck falling off some damn rock."

"If there's a rock with your name on it, darlin', it'll be gravel when I'm done with it."

This elicits a giggle. "I missed your screwy sense of honour, you know. When you dropped off the radar I tried to find you but it was like you'd ceased to exist."

I snort. Like hell she did. "Sure ya did."

Manicured fingers tug at the front of her sweat dampened sweater and jiggle the material, letting air circulate against her skin. "Nick Fury went ape-shit trying to track you down."

"Who the fuck's Nick Fury?"

"SHIELD big cheese. _The _big cheese. He takes it personal when one of his best agents vanishes without trace."

"So that's his place down there?" I enquire, cocking my head in the general direction.

"No. Team X was a CIA supreme black ops unit."

CIA? SHIELD? I was a fucking spook? "Yer shitting me."

"No shit, Logan. We solved problems for the Man. When the mutant witch hunts started up the Man turned on us despite Fury's protests. You disappeared and I quit. Not long after that I met Erik and he made me an offer I wasn't going to refuse."

"I was a fucking spook?"

"The best. Now, unless you want to be a ghost we need to pick this up later. C'mon, lover."

Where the hell's she get off calling me that? "Let's get something straight. I ain't yer lover, Raven."

The enigmatic smile is back, hinting at shit I have no hope of remembering. Shit I ain't gonna take on faith.

"Let's stash you somewhere safe and snug before I slog back up that trail."

None of this hangs right. What the fuck's going on? I'm a mess, a pale shadow of the Wolverine and right now I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. Why go to the trouble of rescuing the guy who turned her into shish kebab?

"This is bullshit!"

The shutters some down, locking the smile from view. "What do you mean?"

"Why ya doing this?"

"You know why."

"Do I?" She makes to stand but I grab her wrist and drag her back. "I'm a liability and you're a ruthless bitch. The two are mutually exclusive so what's the fucking scam?"

"You know me so well, Logan." Sarcasm drips from her lips; bitter and self-deprecating.

"This ain't just about Magneto is it? Or Creed for that matter."

"You're the one having deep thoughts so you tell me." She tears herself from my grasp and stands. Even without enhanced senses I can feel the anger radiating off her. "The next bit is downhill," she snaps.

"Glad to hear it. Where we going?"

"There." A slender finger indicates a large outcrop about twelve hundred yards down the valley. "Beyond that is a meadow large enough to land the chopper."

Joints grind and burn as I lift my weary body from the boulder. "Leave me the water, will ya?"

"You won't make it on your own. I'm coming with you."

"No you ain't. Weather's closing in, remember? Clock's running. Get yer ass up that mountain."

"If you're not at the rendezvous I'm leaving." The expression on her face is unreadable. Wish I could smell the chemical signals she's giving off.

"Lemme worry about that. You just get that chopper down here."

"Logan…"

"Fer fuck's sake, woman! Git already!"

What she does next takes me completely by surprise. With a touch lighter than a feather she cups my face between her hands and before I can pull away she kisses me like she means it. Not a peck on the cheek or a pucker on the lips but a full on lover's kiss; raw and passionate. Too stunned to be angry I hold her to me, accepting this little slice of unexpected human warmth. Somehow this feels familiar and that scares the shit outta me. She put Rogue in harm's way and I should be kicking her ass, not swapping spit. After breaking away she thrusts the bottle into my hand. She's wearing that strange smile again; twisted fucking Mona Lisa.

"Chauffeur service, old man?"

Rub salt into the wounds why don'tcha?

"You still here?"

I can taste her in my mouth. Dunno whether to spit or savour it. Without another word she shoulders her bag, hits the trail and is quickly lost from view. All I can hear is the soft crunch of her boots on rock. Pretty soon that's gone too.

Damn! The bitch needs to be taught a lesson. Or something.

The terrain between me and the rock slopes gradually and is easy underfoot. The exertion is gruelling but I manage to reach it without falling flat on my face. Meadow's there for sure and the outcrop has some useful crevices and gullies. Not caves exactly but enough overhangs and protrusions to conceal from above and from approach on foot. Maybe offer limited shelter from the elements. Raven sure knows the area which gives some credence to her story. Course the details are probably bullshit. Me and her working together? Sleeping together? Yeah, right. And Mother Teresa played on the Maple Leafs forward line.

Dead on my feet and sweating like a pig, I slump onto a convenient rock at the base of a small cliff. I pull the bottle outta my shirt and take a swig of the lukewarm water.

A big fat raindrop splatters onto a rock a coupla feet away. More drops fall from the sky and quickly become a downpour as I huddle beneath my meager shelter.

It's a relief to park my carcass. The chilled stone makes me shiver but feels good against bruised and torn flesh.

Thunder echoes across the mountains but it seems distant. The patter of rain lulls me. Gonna lean back and rest my eyes…just….for a….minute.

oo0oo

_Whup, whup, whup, whup._

The air throbs and my head with it. I turn my bleary eyes to the sky and watch as a white and blue chopper passes overhead and drops out of sight. Musta fallen asleep or passed out coz I don't remember when it stopped raining and it don't seem like Raven's been gone long enough.

I stretch, trying to flex the kinks out of my cold and cramped limbs. Joints feel like they've been wrenched apart and I got vile morning mouth; metallic and bitter. Not good. Chopper engine changes pitch as it's brought to land and the rotor slap reverberates off the rock causing my head to pound harder. Figure she ain't gonna come looking for me so I scramble to my feet and stagger towards the sound. Moving into the open I can see Raven jumping out of the chopper and ducking down instinctively to avoid the idling rotors. I stumble towards her and suddenly she's at my side, urging me to move faster. The vortex caused by the rotors pulls at our clothing and hair. Grass switches wildly around our knees, blown seeds and grit scouring exposed flesh. I shield my eyes with an arm but my hands and face feel like they're being sandblasted. We reach the chopper and she throws open the door, boosting me through it with a firm shove on my ass. I'm still fastening the harness as she takes off.

"Not a moment too soon," she mutters.

A thick cloud of mist is rolling down the flanks of the mountains and into the valley as the cloud ceiling descends. A few minutes later and flying would have been for shit.

"Where we headed?"

"Fuel's low. Need to head towards a population centre so I can boost a car. Can't go anywhere much with the storm moving in so we'll have to land and lie low for a while."

"Lie low yeah but forget the car. We need something faster. Lemme call in the lift." Gotta warn 'em. Gotta get back to Westchester.

"_What_?" She catches on fast. "Touch that radio and you are one dead Canuck!"

I'm dead anyway. I just ain't laid down yet. "You wanna catch Erik don'tcha?"

Her eyes are blazing blue fury. "Only if catch is a euphemism,"

Damn straight it is. "He's going after Hank McCoy and Hank's in Westchester."

The hands gripping the control column show white knuckles. "Are you crazy? No!"

Expected that. Hardest part of this is convincing her.

"Darlin' time's short," my time anyhow, "and we'll never get a better shot at this."

"You might be able to convince Xavier but Summers is a fucking dalek. He'll turn me in first chance he gets."

Dalek? Robot; narrow gauge mind. Yeah, that's One-eye. Heh. "Summers alerting the feds ain't the problem. Xavier will tug on One-eye's leash if he sees a chance of getting his old buddy put back under lock and key."

With an emphatic shake of her head she says, "Bringing in Xavier is a bad idea. He's not going to help us finesse Erik or Creed."

"He don't need to know that little detail."

"And how are you going to conceal a little detail like premeditated murder from the most powerful telepath on the planet?"

"Because my physical senses might be gone but the animal is still inside my head. Cue-ball ain't never been able to penetrate my feral mind shield." Not while I'm conscious anyhow.

"What mind shield? Your powers are screwed!"

"Yeah, my powers are fucked but look at my hair. It ain't changed. Check out my fangs." I bare my teeth. "The animal ain't been muzzled. Not by a long shot."

By rights it should have been but it ain't and that's damn weird. Not a power then? Definitely a what the fuck thing that needs closer examination later.

Delicately arched eyebrows crease together. "Okay," she concedes, "but _I_ don't have a feral mind shield."

"Ya don't need one. You're Mystique. They'll expect ya to do the nasty."

That prompts a snort. "And you're just stringing me along, is that it?"

"Ya catch on real quick. And there's the whole rescued my ass deal going on for ya." I flash her a grin and her frown deepens.

"It's a stupid idea."

"That's why it'll work." I lean across and snag the radio receiver. "Lemme call 'em. "She stares ahead, pursing her lips. Can see she ain't happy 'bout this but like I said, it's our best chance of flushing Magneto out.

"What if this goes south? I _will _kill you, you know."

Now there's the Mystique I know and love to hate. "Darlin', if this goes bad you'll hafta get in line."

A mirthless chuckle fills the cabin. "You've always had a talent for pissing people off."

"It's a gift."

From the sour look on her face, she's chewing it over. After a minute she relaxes, her lips twisting into a wicked smile.

"Do it."

oo0oo

Storm descends from the Blackbird's belly hatch ladder, her white hair and the silver edging of her cape gleaming in the bright hangar lights. She's pissed and she ain't bothering to hide it. She ain't happy about my idea to use Hank to sucker Magneto. The mere suggestion of adding Raven to the mix sparked outright opposition. Allies like Raven she ain't gonna tolerate, not when a buddy's life is on the line. Me? I figure if ya gotta dirty job to do ya need the right tools and Raven's as dirty as they come.

Raven pauses at the hatch, her narrowed eyes fixed on the retreating figure. "The weather witch isn't going to be a problem is she?"

"Who, 'Roro? Nah. She'll come good. They all will." Chuck wants his old buddy back under lock and key so bad he ain't gonna pass up a chance like this.

"Indubitably," the softly spoken Hank McCoy agrees.

"You'd better be right," she mutters.

Lithe as a cat Raven disappears through the hatch. I make to follow her but one of Hank's large blue hands clamps down on my shoulder.

"Logan, we need to talk. Privately."

Last guy who laid a hand on me like that took home in a bag. I twist my head and glare at him. Friend or not, no one takes fucking liberties with me.

"Believe me, you don't wanna go there, bub."

Tawny gold eyes regard me. I might not be able to smell Hank's apprehension and disappointment no more but reading body language ain't a power, it's training and experience. My message is received and the weight on my shoulder is suddenly gone. So am I; my adamantium heavy tread making the hatch ladder shake as I emerge into the hangar. Behind and above I can hear Hank exhale his frustration. I know what he's gonna say and I really, really do not wanna hear it.

Over by the exit 'Roro and Summers are in a heated and gesticulating conference huddle. Can't hear the whispered debate but her feathers are still ruffled which is a good sign Summers ain't saying what she wants to hear. Raven's standing a few feet away, arms folded across her nicely fleshed out chest, looking both bored and amused. The huddle breaks up.

"Come with me," 'Roro demands of Raven. She stalks out of the hangar without looking back.

Raven watches her go and then turns to me. "So who shit on the welcome mat?"

"That'd be you, darlin'. Right about the time ya fucked with Cerebro and turned Chuck into a vegetable."

"What? You people can't take a joke?"

"I'd say the joke's on you, Mystique," Summers butts in, his voice bitter. "Magneto dumped you and now you're here under protest so don't push your luck."

"I'm Raven now." She bares her teeth in a mocking grin and heads out after 'Roro

As the door cycles shut behind her Summers rounds on me. He's decked out to anal perfection. Precise creases in his pants and probably in his colon too. The guy really needs to relax and get a life. The ruby quartz visor divides his frown from his cramped ass expression.

"Bringing that bitch here compromises us, Logan. You must know she's on the federal Most Wanted list. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hand her over to the authorities."

Coz, Chuck's got you on a leash, asshole, the only reason ya need.

"Because I gave her my word and because we need her."

One-eye's jaw muscles twitch as he grinds his teeth. "We don't need her, we don't want her and your word means fuck all to me."

"So how come ya ain't called Homeland Security?"

He scrubs his chin with a hand before announcing, "Because Xavier thinks she might have something to bring to the table."

Xavier thinks? Am I looking at the visored face of dissention here? How about that.

"He's right. We can use her."

"We can't trust her."

No shit! "Ain't asking ya to."

"Logan." He hesitates, searching for words. I know what's coming and he can stick it. "About what happened. The cure. I'm sorry..."

"Don't," I warn. His fucking pity I don't need.

The Fearless Leader mask crashes down. "Fine. There'll be a briefing in the war room in one hour. You look like shit so get cleaned up and go see Hank."

"That an order?"

"Hell no. You don't do orders so why waste my breath? Stay here and drip blood all over the hangar floor for all I care. I'll have housekeeping swing by and clean away your corpse when you're done."

Wonder who shoved jalapenos up his ass? Bout fucking time if ya ask me. I give him a wide, shit eating grin. "Yer beginning to sound just like me, One-eye. There's hope for ya yet."

He gives me his trademark stern look, turns on his heel, tosses, "One hour," over his shoulder. Then he's gone.

The dick's right. I do look like shit. Smell like it too. Time to dump the chainsaw massacre chic and hit the locker room shower. Thirst's back. Never experienced anything like it, not even on a beer binge. Mouth tastes like an iron foundry and no amount of water'll wash it away. Maybe popping a few Altoids'll help. Can hear Hank using the hatch ladder. No way am I gonna let him corner me for a private chat so I leave. I'm in time to see Summers stepping into the lift.

Jeezus! What's with the glare? Hallway's way too bright and sorta misty, like in a dream

Dammittofuckinghell! Not again!

Vision's started to swim and the hall dissolves into fuzzy grey and begins to warp and spin around me. Disoriented I stagger to where I know solid wall should be and brace myself against it's reassuringly solid surface, resting my forehead against the cool metal. Gotta fight the dizziness. Sweat rolls off me but the chilly draft from the air conditioning is colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and sends me into shivers. Stomach's rocking and rolling and it's evens whether I fall flat on my face or puke my guts up first. Probably both. Okay, close my eyes. Shut out the dancing infrastructure. Breathe evenly, as deep as my bruised ribs allow. Gotta get my shit together. Can't let Blue see me like this.

A bass voice fills my ears. "Do you require assistance?"

Crap! Too late.

"'M okay. Just give me a minute."

"Logan, I consider myself a friend as well as an upholder of the Hippocratic Oath. It would be remiss of me to not advise you of the consequences of your actions."

"I don't need this right now, Hank."

"I disagree. I strongly urge you to accompany me to the medical laboratory forthwith where I shall endeavour to ascertain the severity of your predicament."

The dizziness has abated enough to risk opening my eyes and looking at him. Blue hovers a coupla feet away. Don't need hyper-senses to tell me concern's oozing from every follicle.

"And if I don't?"

Keeping his movements casual he removes his pince-nez glasses and polishes them with a cloth he's pulled out of a pocket. After holding them up to the light for inspection he clips them back in place and stows the cloth. His golden eyes seem to magnify in size as his gaze bores into me.

"Analyse the situation, my friend."

Ain't rocket science but I'll be damned if I'll admit it.

"Only thing I wanna analyse is how to take down Magneto and survive long enough to brag about it."

"Logan, heaven forefend that I would place my hirsute integument between you and your desire to deliver Magneto to swift justice."

Deliver Magneto to justice? Ya got that the wrong way round, Blue Boy.

"Then get yer hairy butt the hell away from me."

"However, I may have discovered a technical hitch with your perspicacious stratagem. A deficiency of suitable bait would have a deleterious effect would it not?"

Can't help the bitter laugh bubbling up from my belly. Hank, for all his intellect, fifty dollar words and swanky education, ain't above a spot of down and dirty blackmail. But he did just agree to play decoy; I think. Guess I gotta listen to his advice whether I like it or not. Don't mean I gotta follow it though.

"All ya had to do was ask." I fire back.

Hank makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. "After you."

Question; will I fall on my ass if I let go the wall?

It's a close thing but…nope.

Hank pulls a smile and reveals his sharp teeth. "I really must find time to explore this novel mode of idiomatic communication. I believe I might even enjoy the merits of its application."

"Yeah, fuck you too, furball."

"Come, my friend. You can perform your ablutions in the medical laboratory's excellently appointed facility."

"Do you always talk like this? Like ya swallowed a frigging dictionary?"

Blue lowers his head and peers at me over his glasses. "I talk to many people. It is the accepted form of communication for…"

"Shut the fuck up, Hank." There's the grin again. Guess he yanked my chain there. Feeling weary I set off towards med-lab. "I only got an hour so let's get this over with, huh?"

oo0oo

Feels so good to lose the blood-caked clothes and let warm water sluice away the grime, blood and stink. The medicated wash Hank handed me stings like hell but it's a clean pain rather than a grit encrusted one. The difference is a relief. I try not to look at my reflection in the steamy glass door. The hollow-eyed, tortured creature staring back too closely resembles my fight cage leavings. I feel worse.

I dry off carefully but still disturb some water softened scabs. The stinging becomes dull pain and fresh blood trickles.

Fuck it.

A T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants have been provided so I slip into 'em and present myself for examination.

Hank's busy at a computer station, his too large fingers tapping at the keyboard. The leather uniform's been exchanged for a white coat and it looks like he's been busy gathering packages and equipment. He peers at me over his shoulder.

"I shall be with you presently. Please take a seat."

I sink my weary, aching body onto a chair and stretch out my legs. He doesn't keep me waiting long. After a final tap on the keyboard he swivels the chair around.

"Normally I placate my uncooperative patients with these." Hank produces a bag of Tootsie Pops from a drawer, selects a green one and pops it in his mouth. He offers me the bag. I let my fuck off and die snarl speak for me.

"No?" He withdraws the suckers but not before filching another one for himself. "In that case perhaps two fingers of thirty-five year old Glengoyne Spring vintage malt would be to your liking? Behave and I could be persuaded to make it a double."

Guy's got taste. Fucking tragedy the idea of alcohol turns my stomach right now.

"You help me put away Magneto and I'll help ya put away the malt. In fact I'm gonna get so shit-faced in celebration I won't be able to remember my name."

"It is not an action I would recommend but I suppose you'll have earned the right." Professional mask in place, Hank gets down to the nitty gritty. "Describe your symptoms, please."

"I feel like shit."

"Could you be a little more specific? What shade for example."

His expression remains serious but there's a gleam in those weird golden eyes.

"Well ya saw the BS in the hall. Dizzy spells. Greying out. Head feels like it wants to explode. My gut feels like it already has. Hell, every fucking inch of me hurts. The urge to barf is getting worse and I got this weird sensation in my arms and legs."

"Numbness?" He's out of his chair and examining my forearms.

"Nah. Sorta like the buzz ya feel when ya stick your finger on a low voltage battery lead. Kinda prickly and itchy, like I need to peel."

"Hmm," he rumbles. A thick blue finger depresses purplish spots on my arms causing them to fade and reappear. It smarts.

"Hey, this ain't Whack-a-mole!"

Ignoring my protest he says, "Kindly remove your shirt."

Freshly formed scabs break open as I lift my arms to shrug off the shirt. The oozing glory of Creed's incised X is revealed causing a frown to appear on Blue's forehead.

"Good heavens! How did this occur?" Hank reaches for a pack of swabs, latex gloves and a bottle of Betadine.

"Creed's idea of a tattoo, I guess."

"Indeed. The creature should be incarcerated."

Yeah right. When I'm done they won't be able to find enough of him to throw in jail. "He'll get what's coming, I promise yer that."

"These lacerations have become infected." After stuffing his huge hands into the gloves he liberally soaks a swab in Betadine and gets to work.

It burns and I flinch. "That fucking hurts!"

"The alternative is to be avoided."

The swabbing is fast but thorough. When he's done he tapes a large dressing over my chest. I just know the tape's gonna leave bald patches when it comes off.

The used swabs are disposed of, as are the gloves. Making his way to an under counter refrigerator, he pulls out several small, glass vials. From a drawer he produces and equal number of syringes.

I've had it up to my eyeballs with fucking needles. "What's that?"

"Tetanus toxoid and a prophylactic antibiotic are mandatory."

Blue breaks open a syringe.

"Don'tcha mean voluntary?"

"Not for a man whose immune system is at the point of extinction. Your wounds are already infected. Need I paint a larger picture?"

Peachy. I get to be a fucking pin cushion.

"Creed wasn't foaming at the mouth, was he?"

Huh? "Salivating like a jackal over road kill."

"Hmm. Perhaps Hydrophobia Immune Globulin is indicated as well."

"Whazzat?"

"Rabies vaccine."

There's a glint in his eye. Bastard's messing with me.

"Fuck you, Blue!"

Snagging a new pair of gloves Hank squeezes them on and picks up the hypodermic and a vial. Five minutes later my arm and butt have been stabbed and band-aided. Next he produces a thin, flat wooden stick.

"Would you be so kind as to open your mouth please?"

I grimace and then open wide. Using the tongue depressor and a pen-sized flashlight he probes the inside of my mouth.

"Have you experienced unusual thirst or odd sense of taste?"

Unable to speak I just nod. Thirstier than the Atacama Desert with a taste like I've been sucking pig iron.

"Say ah."

"Ahh…..urrrk."

My gag reflex kicks in and Hank pulls away fast.

"Breathe through your nose," he counsels as he pulls a gadget from his pocket. Dry heaving abated he slides something across my forehead and reads the tiny LED display. "Harrumph," he mutters as he turns away and begins tapping something into his computer.

Harrumph? What kinda medical jargon is that?

"What?" I demand, my temper fraying. I hate shit like this. Med-labs, potions and doctors. All they add up to is a world of grief.

There's no response as he resumes the exam, his fingers pressing into my neck. "Raise your arms," he says and does the same thing to my pits. It hurts.

"Ahh—oww! What the hell are ya doing, Blue? I thought ya was gonna make me feel better not finish me off."

"You have swollen lymph nodes."

"No shit!"

More tapping on the computer. "Please go over to the examination table and assume a supine position."

"Huh?"

"Lie on your back. It would help if you roll your waistband down to your hips."

There's no fucking way I'm gonna let him poke around my tenderised tackle.

"Forget it."

A heavy sigh issues from him. "Logan, the groin region contains lymph nodes as well. I need to determine the extent of…..."

"Then assume the worst and let's move on."

"As you wish," he says with a shrug. "Are you experiencing any difficulty urinating? Is there any pain or blood?"

"Dunno, ain't pissed in a while."

"What defines a while?" he asks.

When did I last take a piss? Last one I remember was pulling into that diner. "What day is it?"

The yellow eyes widen in alarm. "Thursday," he replies.

"Then yer answer's around noon yesterday."

"Good grief. Are you not experiencing acute discomfort in your lower abdomen?"

"I got Creed's size fifteen boot mashed into my 'nads so that's a fucking yes!"

"I see." The furry digit is brought into play once more.

"Arrgh!" I gasp as he pokes just below the left side of my ribcage.

"Painful?"

"Do that again and yer'll find out."

Asshole ain't listening. This time it's my right side. Pain rips through my gut.

"You got a fucking death wish?"

"Forgive me, Logan but you have significant swelling in the areas of your spleen and liver. Indulge me once more…"

"Just be done, will ya?"

"Tell me which hurts more. When I press?"

Can't help tensing up when the finger digs in.

"Or release?"

"One's white agony and the other's blue agony so you tell me, doc."

He repeats the procedure on the other side with the same results.

"I'd like to do a scan." The words sound strained, a sure sign Blue ain't happy.

"No." No more of this examination shit.

"I need to determine the cause of the swelling."

"What the hell's that gonna do?" What the hell's the point?

Hank removes his specs and massages the bridge of his nose. "Your propensity to harbour extreme reservations regarding the most basic medical protocols is extraordinarily vexatious."

And he accuses me of idiomatic speech?

"In fucking English!"

The expression on Hanks face is dead level. "Do you have any idea what you're facing?"

"Yeah, I do so stow the lecture. Just tell me how I can keep going long enough to take Magneto down."

"For that I require your cooperation. I will not prescribe anything until I know precisely what I'm dealing with."

He's got me over a barrel. I wanna tell him to go fuck himself and walk outta this torture chamber. Instead I nod once.

"Good man. First off is a urine sample. You'll find sterile cups on the shelf above the toilet."

"Right."

"If you experience difficulty it helps to imagine running water," he advises.

"You think I don't know how to piss?"

Shoving his hands into his lab-coat pocket he perches on the edge of his desk. "Logan, when it comes to you I don't know what to think."

Several minutes later I'm holding my dick and staring at the wall tiles. I've finally got to realising my back molars are in danger of floating but the relief valve's jammed shut. Imagine running water. That's what furball said. There's a nice Canadian Rockies stream bubbling through my head but it ain't doing the business.

"You might try turning on the faucet."

Fuck! Is he listening at the damn door? I turn on both faucets and concentrate hard.

Nothing. Not a drip. Not a drop.

Okay. Think river.

Zilch..

Think Niagara Falls.

Zip.

Think Niagara falls in spring flood.

Ah, stuff Niagara falls.

Think beer fountain. All those tasty suds just raining down…

C'mon ya dumb Canuck. Ya can do this.

There's a familiar heaviness. And a sharp twinge.

Inside my head the beer shoots into the sky and rains down in a shower of liquid gold.

And…

"Ahhhh…"

What the…?

"Aw damn."

That's it? After all that hard work? A few mud coloured drops that barely cover the bottom of the specimen cup?

"How's this?" I ask, emerging from the lavatory.

Thick blue lips into a grim line. "That won't do, my friend." He strides to a cabinet and produces a flimsy cotton gown and a plastic packet of transparent tubing. "Kindly remove your clothing and put this on."

"No. No one takes the piss outta me. Not figuratively and sure as hell not with any damn tube."

"Would you like me to spell out all the potential complications of anuresis?"

This time he ain't taking no for an answer. He'd better learn life's full of disappointments or suffer the consequences.

"Would you like to experience the complications of having that tube shoved up your ass?"

Hank discards the packet. "Very well. In order to preserve our mutual dignities let us proceed to option two. The sitz bath."

That don't sound so bad. "What's a sitz bath?"

This time Blue's smile is wicked. "It's the medicalised version of a rather shameful prank I once played in my youth. Imagine your victim lost in the lands of inebriated slumber. You immerse his hands into tepid water…"

I burst out laughing and am instantly reminded why that ain't a good idea right now. "You sly old dog! Who was yer victim? Tell me it was Summers and I'll buy ya a crate of that fancy malt whisky."

"Not Scott. I would never be so dishonourable to a friend. The gentleman was an infamous, insufferable prig in college. Unfortunately he is now a famous, insufferable congressman. I can't help smiling whenever we shake hands."

"Good on ya, Blue. So, what do I do? Put my hands in warm water?"

"Not your hands." Hank heads across med-lab and pulls what looks like a white plastic sombrero from a cupboard. From another cupboard he selects a plastic bag. Snapping the bag against the countertop, he presents me with a contraption that looks like a cross between an ice pack and a jock strap. "Here you go. Twenty minutes of this applied to your genitalia…"

The damn thing's freezing cold!

"You wanna turn my dick into a popsicle? Do I look like a fucking penguin to you? Scratch that…"

"Followed by twenty minutes of soaking in tepid water…" Blue continues, ignoring my protest.

That's a fucking potty in his hands. "I did my potty training a long time ago, Hank. I ain't about to relive the experience."

Hank dumps the potty on the desk and I chuck the jockstrap inside it. "There is one other option."

"Glad to hear it. What's option three?"

"Option three?" He studies his feet for a moment and when he raises his gaze his yellow eyes are ablaze with an emotion I can't readily identify. "That's the one where I sit back, wait for your bladder to rupture and then irrigate your abdominal cavity. You may not survive of course but at least it will alleviate the original problem."

"Jeezus Christ, Blue. This ain't no laughing matter."

"No, it isn't." Suddenly he's in my face, eye's glaring and this time there's no mistaking the antagonism. Hot breath mists my cheeks. It smells of coffee and Tootsie Pops. "Do you see me laughing?"

He's big, he's fuming and he's just too damn close. My hackles go up as the berserker inside me stirs to life.

"Yer face. If ya wanna keep it get it outta mine," I growl, baring my fangs.

Furball ain't backing off so I give him a long, loud, I'm gonna tear yer fucking arm off and stuff it up yer ass growl.

Challenge accepted, Hank's upper lip curls into a deeply wrinkled snarl and a bass, high decibel rumbling erupts from his throat. The air around my head vibrates and I'm wondering if the growl 'ud register on the Richter scale.

Stripped of anything approaching civil bedside manner, furball's every bit as feral as I am. So are his fangs which are impressive. Ordinarily, pissing contests don't faze me. I'm a world class player and can spray it around with the best. However, my current lack of ammunition is a serious handicap. Not that it's gonna stop me.

"I ain't warning ya again, Hank. Back the fuck off now!"

I make a ball of my fist, flexing my knuckles, ready to pop the claws and hesitate, just for an instant. Claws plus no healing factor equals major bleed out. Okay, plan B. My bones are metal reinforced. I can still hit like a steel bar.

The movement catches Hank's eye and he blinks.

"Oh my stars and garters."

Shock replaces the feral mask and he steps away, putting a more comfortable distance between us.

"It's yer fucking guts for garters if ya do that again."

"Forgive me but there will be no again." He looks and sounds mortified. I guess he don't lose control too often.

"Damn right.," I snarl. "I'm outta here." I brace myself on the arms of the chair and make to stand.

"Logan, walk out of that door and your Magneto hunt ends right here."

"Why, because you're not gonna play Judas goat?"

Ya pulled that trick once, furball. Ya don't get me with it twice.

For several heartbeats he stands there, his stare calculating. "I'm willing to play my part because Magneto simply cannot remain at large to build another army of malcontents. However, by dinner you will be suffering so much pain you'll be doubled over and unable to walk let alone fight. So what's it going to be, tough guy? Popsicle, piss-take or acute peritonitis…?"

Shit! Some fucking options. Dick tube; dicksicle or major surgery. Two are invasive and I ain't having 'em. No choice but to give it up for the line of least resistance.

"Why the ice?"

Exhaling his relief Blue launches into an explanation. "To alleviate the swelling and inflammation. Followed by twenty minutes in nice warm water." He retrieves the jockstrap and hands it over. "I have a magazine you can read to take your mind off things."

Gonna hafta be a good one to take my mind off a frostbitten crotch. Depends how ya define interesting and something tells me that Hank ain't exactly an under the counter kinda guy.

"Thanks."

"While you disrobe I shall set up the bath."

"Whatever."

Potty in hand he disappears into the bathroom. After a short while I can hear the faucet running. Meanwhile I strip and take a good look at the damage. My dick and 'nads are black! They are fucking black and swollen and look like they're about to burst outta my skin. To my surprise the icepack don't feel too bad. I'm shaking like a leaf so I pull my drawers up and drop my carcass back into the chair.

Hank returns, wiping his hands on a paper towel. After chucking it into a bin he rummages in a cupboard. Next thing I know a blanket's being draped around my shoulders.

"You're shivering," he explains. "I'll get the magazine."

He fumbles in the Tootsie Pop drawer and pulls out a copy of Cosmopolitan. "Ororo won't mind you borrowing it."

"I ain't reading that!"

"It's very educational. The insights into the female psyche are very interesting The article on page twenty seven is particularly informative." He holds it in my direction.

I don't reach for it. "But it's fucking Cosmo, bub."

His cocks his head. "Your point being?"

Blue likes sticking sharp spikes in people and he's looking at me like a lab specimen. I bite back the comment I really wanna make. "I don't do chickzines, okay. Ain't you got anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replies, discarding the Cosmo. "I have a copy of The Lancet."

A damn geekzine! "Does it have pictures of hot women riding bikes in it?"

"No, but there's an excellent discussion on plasma cholinase deficiency."

"Blue, do yerself a favour and get a fucking life."

oo0oo

Never really understood what relief was until the ice and the sitz bath worked their magic. The pain in my gut's still there but it's subsided to a more tolerable level. While I suffered the penguin treatment Hank did a whole lot of tapping on his keyboard. Ten minutes of steeping my tackle brought on a major piss. Never again will I underrate the satisfaction of emptying a full bladder.

So now we've reached stage two; the scan.

"Make yourself comfortable," Hank invites, gesturing to a stainless steel platform.

"Right."

I comply but how the hell d'ya make yerself comfortable on something harder and colder than a fucking mortuary slab? Too much trouble to warm it up first?

"I'll just be a moment," Hank says as he operates the machine controlling the half-ring scanner that's now hovering over my midsection. "Lie very still please." The machine hums, clicks and performs its function while my body soaks up the chill. Finally, the scanner returns to its idle position. "Thank you. You may get up now."

Grateful to be off that rack I slump back in my chair feeling exhausted. The thirst is back and I'm gonna need to slake it soon. Hope that don't mean another session with the cold white south.

"So now what?" I ask. Dumb I know but I might as well know precisely what I'm up against.

Still fiddling with the scanner's buttons Blue replies, "There is a distressing paucity of research into adamantium toxicity so I shall initiate the standard treatment for metal poisoning. That is to say, a multiple therapeutic approach including blood transfusion, bowel irrigation, chelation, hemoperfusion and hemodyalasis."

My heart slides into my gut. Can't he just gimme some pills or something? Anger burns inside me as I grind out my frustration.

"Wanna put that in plain English, bub?"

"I believe you know what a transfusion is…"

"I think I read about it once."

The look he levels at me is critical. He gets it right back with extreme prejudice.

"Bowel irrigation is accomplished by the administration of a large volume of non absorbable fluid to remove hazardous contents from the gastrointestinal tract."

Does that mean ya intend to shove a tube up the Wolverine's ass? Ya sure like living dangerously, bub.

"Administration of what?"

"You ingest Colyte solution which evacuates your bowels."

So I get to swallow it. That don't sound much better than a goddam tube. "Meaning a major case of the shits, right?"

"Crudely expressed but correct."

"If the aim is to get me shitting through the eye of a needle then I figure a bowl of red hot chilli would have the same effect," I observe. And taste a damn sight better too.

Deep laughter rings out. "The result of the Colyte solution is, shall we say, less explosive than your suggestion. It will also work faster."

Well hell, I like living dangerously. "So, what's kee-lating?"

Encouraged by my apparent interest Blue gets into his stride. "Chelation is an intravenous infusion of ethyl-enediaminetetra-acetic acid to remove toxic substances from the body."

See? I knew there were fucking tubes involved somewhere down the line. "Sorry I asked."

"In layman's terms, the acid binds to the metal ions in your blood thus allowing your liver and kidneys to excrete the toxins with greater ease."

Sounds promising. "The hemo-guff. What's that about? Keep it simple, Hank."

"Of course," he responds, as he strokes his chin. "Hemodyalisis and hemoperfusion are somewhat similar in the way they cleanse the blood of toxins. The principal difference is the filtering."

Let's hear it for the tubes. I'm gonna get spaghettified if furball has his way.

"And ya want me to do all this shit now?"

"No, no. However, you're presenting symptoms of acute anaemia. When you lost your healing factor you lost the ability to manufacture blood cells. It's a critical side effect of having metal coated bones. To counteract this I recommend an immediate transfusion. Depending on your labs, chelation might be indicated. Those should keep symptoms manageable and keep you functioning longer."

"And if I don't?"

Blue steeples his fingers, puts them to his lips and closes his eyes. I just know he's thinking – not this again.

Finally he says, "There are medications that may minimise some of the symptoms and control pain for a while. But once enough toxin builds up in your tissues the therapies I've just described are the only defense; albeit a temporary one."

Pretty much what Magneto said. Shit! "You're just a fucking ray of sunshine, Blue. How long ya think I got?"

Shaking his head regretfully he replies, "Your situation is unique and therefore difficult to predict but I guarantee you _will_ know when more advanced treatment is required."

"Yeah, how's that?"

"I believe the expression sick as a dog will apply."

Wonderful. Just fucking perfect. Not! "Any chance of this thing working like...umm...hell, I dunno whatchacallit. Could it keep me alive long term?"

"Logan, I'm not going to give you any false hope. The truth is you and I are currently writing the book on A-toxicity. The simple answer to your question is, I don't know."

"What yer really saying is, I'm a goner."

Hank's averted eyes say it all. "With your permission I'd like to draw your blood and check the adamantium levels."

"What's the point?"

"Perhaps we can keep ahead of critical levels..."

"Don't ya mean conduct a little research?"

The yellow eyes blaze briefly. Guess I got a knack of getting under the guys skin.

"Trust your senses, Logan," he counsels, tone heavy with reproach. "You know I'm the last person who'd exploit you but if I wait until your symptoms become severe the window of opportunity may be lost."

Dry washing my face and trying to get a handle on limited and very grim options, I'm not liking what I see. And I got zilch decision time.

"How long does a transfusion and this kee-lating thing take?"

His reply is cautious. "A few hours, depending on how many units of blood are required. Chelation, less time."

No frigging way! "I need to be down the hall in ten minutes time. So do you. The briefing…"

"Can wait. You can't." There's an intensity in Blue's posture that tells me he ain't giving way on this.

"Will the blood and ethyl-acid shit keep me on my feet?"

Relaxing his posture a little he nods. "In my professional opinion, yes. You will almost certainly experience an alleviation of various symptoms including the dizziness."

Can't argue with that. "Then what the fuck are ya waiting for, Hank. Let's do this!"

"I'll retrieve the blood from storage and warm it."

**Thank you to our reviewers. We are grateful you took the time to comment. If you have enjoyed the second instalment please review. Our muses need to know they are appreciated. Thank you.**


	3. Chapter 3

Part of Chapter 3 in draft form is available at our new website WeirdvisionsUSA. You can find the actual link in the profile of MidLifeCrisis here on FFN or you can make the FFN partially blocked conversion: Weirdvisionsusa(dot) (at) yolasite(dotcom). Tell your friends.


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